Through The Looking Glass
by Ink Spotz
Summary: Two different worlds come colliding together as Victorian Sherlock and John and modern day Sherlock and John work together to save their seperate worlds.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

 **1887**

Sherlock stared ahead of him through the film of smoke in front of his eyes. He had been smoking away on his pipe for the last fifteen minutes now, and had yet to come up with a suitable answer to the woman's query. John sat to the left of Sherlock, frozen in place as his eyes kept alternating from the woman's to his. Normally Sherlock didn't take so long to come up with a marvelous deduction that usually laid the groundwork for their sleuthing, but not today. Today for some reason Sherlock sat frozen in his chair like a porcelain statue. He had the grace and posture of an astute mastermind, but had no words to back it up.

The woman looked at both of the men with a small hint of annoyance on her face. Her lips were pressed together in a tight line; her eyes two narrow beads. She had her legs crossed, appearing like a lady but not conveying it in her attitude. The fact that her legs were crossed caused it to look like her blue dress had come to possess waves in it; waves as turbulent as her irritation towards Sherlock at that moment. She let out yet another cough, as if that would drag Sherlock out of his mind and back to the present. John, sensing the tenseness in the situation, cleared his throat and stumbled to think of words to fill the air.

"I'm not sure if we're the right people to handle your situation," started John off slowly, looking towards Sherlock out of the corner of his eye to see if he'd try to interject.

When John started to speak, Sherlock dislodged the pipe from his mouth and rose to his feet. John leaned back in his chair then, relaxing as he thought that Sherlock's sudden stand meant that he had come up with a revelation at long last. Instead though, John looked on as Sherlock strode towards the door and opened it up. He bowed slightly; his eyes adverted towards the ground as he started to speak.

"I'm sorry, miss, but you'll have to take your case elsewhere."

The woman looked at him with wide eyes, along with John. The woman stammered as she rose to her feet, clutching her purse tightly to the front of her flower print dress as she walked towards the door.

"You've let me sit here for fifteen minutes before telling me this?" She paused at the door. "Have I stumped you Mr. Holmes?"

Shaking his head fiercely in denial, he disputed her fact instantly.

"No, not in the least. Not to worry."

He moved away from the open door then, leaving her to stand there completely on her own as Sherlock disappeared off to his room. John smiled sheepishly at the bewildered woman as he rose from his seat.

"Sorry, miss. Thank you for coming by and thinking upon us for your needs."

Humphing, the woman turned on her heel then and proceeded to leave the flat. The muted sound of Sherlock's voice saying, "watch for the loose board on the stoop," came far too late as the woman let out a small cry and stumbled slightly. John rushed to make sure she was alright, as did Mrs. Hudson who was on her way up with a tea tray at the moment.

"I'm sorry, miss. I forgot to warn you. I thought Sherlock had fixed it by now."

"It would appear as if Mr. Holmes needs to fix quite a lot of things recently," she muttered angrily as she brushed off John and Mrs. Hudson's help. "Might want to start with fixing his mind. It appears that that is what is broken."

She walked down the stairs, faking a limp to get sympathy from John and Mrs. Hudson. John wasn't fooled as he was the doctor, but poor Mrs. Hudson reclaimed her tea tray with both hands and let out a small coo.

"Oh, poor dear. I certainly hope she hasn't damaged her leg."

"She hasn't, Mrs. Hudson. I'm a doctor. If she had even twisted it, she wouldn't be walking like that," said John with a compassionate smile her way. "Now, you're welcome to come in, but you might not like the storm that is currently brewing inside the flat..."

"Oh dear. Are you two having a clash of opinions?" asked Mrs. Hudson. As she entered the flat and placed the tea tray down on the desk, she froze. "Was that woman one of your dates, John?"

He blushed fiercely then, shaking his head. Apparently Mrs. Hudson had been aware of the number of woman that he had been dating in the course of the last few months. He thought he had been more careful to be discreet with it.

"No, that woman happened to be a client. A client that Sherlock turned away..."

"Sherlock turned away a client?" asked Mrs. Hudson in shock.

"Yes, he did," said John, making his posture more rigid as he marched off in the direction of Sherlock's bedroom. "And I am determine to figure out why, hence the storm I was talking about."

"Oh, I see now dear. I shall take my leave." She paused in the doorway, turning to look back over her shoulder at John. "Shall I cancel the hansom that Sherlock wanted later?"

"He ordered a hansom?" asked John, quirking a brow.

"Yes. Claimed it was something of importance."

"That's odd..." John said as he turned his eyes to look at Sherlock's closed bedroom door before turning back to Mrs. Hudson, "No, don't cancel it. I'm quite curious to see what Sherlock's purpose for it was."

She nodded before slipping back downstairs. As John listened to her descend the stairs, he marched towards Sherlock's room and threw the door open without waiting to be admitted.

"What was that all about? Why did you turn away that client?"

Sherlock was currently sitting on his bed spread; his back to the door. He had placed his pipe aside on his bedside dresser, the ghost of the smoke wafting through the air and out the open bedroom window. Sherlock shrugged slowly at John's question.

"Why shouldn't I have?"

"She was a _client,_ Sherlock, and with a decent case by the sounds of it."

He snorted at that, turning to face John then; his blue gaze locking on John's.

"Tell me how you would have gone about solving it then, John."

John's mouth opened and shut like a fish, making Sherlock smirk as he spun back around.

"As I presumed. You have not even the faintest clue how to go about that case. How would one ever be able to? She was spouting off absurdities! There is a man in my house that doesn't steal anything, doesn't assault me, doesn't even talk to me for goodness sakes, but that instead watches me through my looking glass!" He massaged his temple then. "There is no way to solve that kind of case, John. The person she should see is a doctor."

"She claimed the man just isn't aware she is there. That's why there hasn't been any communication."

"John, are you listening to yourself? Can you hear how absurd it is? She needs to talk to a doctor. She is mad."

John thought back on that then, thinking back to the moment when he had helped her out on the stoop and she had proceeded to fake a limp downstairs. That was an act of manipulation, and an act of manipulation took a sound mind, not one that was demented or believing in delusional fantasies. Clearing his throat, John walked a bit closer to the bed to stand near Sherlock's side.

"I believe you should reconsider taking the case," said John softly as he stared out the window and not at Sherlock.

"Oh?" asked Sherlock, quirking a brow in question. "And why is that?"

"In my medical opinion, she does not demonstrate the symptoms of one who is mad. If her mind was not sound, she would not have been able to be manipulative in her actions. On the stoop when she tripped, she faked a limp down the stairs to garner more sympathy. Even while she was here in fact, her intermittent coughing was manipulative in the way of getting you to pay attention to her in some vicinity."

Sherlock slowly turned to look at John then; an odd look on his face. John knew that that look was because he was shocked that the woman wasn't mad.

"Are you sure on this point?"

"Positive," said John. "I think it's worth a second look. Besides, it's not like we're swamped with business at the current moment."

"I suppose you do have a point there," muttered Sherlock then. "Very well. I shall take a second look at this woman's case, but if I find out that she indeed is mad and that the only reason you wanted me to take a second look at the case is so you could make advances towards this woman, I will not be happy nor amused in the slightest..."

"Why do you _and_ Mrs. Hudson both think that I'm going to make advances towards the woman?" spluttered John, turning to look at Sherlock then. "Am I really so far off my game that I am now hitting on clients?"

Shaking his head with a slight smirk, Sherlock rose from his position on the bed as he looked at John.

"Mrs. Hudson and I just happen to know that you'd like to mate, and that you're looking in every possible place for one," commented Sherlock. "There is a difference between us thinking that you're desperate and thinking that you're on the lookout."

"You just don't stop, do you?" asked John rhetorically as Sherlock moved around the bed to grab his coat which was lying draped over the open door of the wardrobe.

"Don't pretend as if you find this annoying, John. I also know that you happen to like when I deduce things of this nature. You like it when I spout off my genius."

"Spout off your genius like a know-it-all..." muttered John under his breath as he straightened his jacket and moved to follow Sherlock from his room, following Sherlock's flapping coat tails. "Sherlock, I have a question for you before we go off to track down this woman..."

"Yes, John?" asked Sherlock as he paused to exit the flat. "What question might that be?"

"Why did you order a hansom for later this evening?"

Sherlock chuckled then as he moved to make his way down the stairs, making his way around the loose board on the stoop.

"Can't you figure that one out, John? I thought you might have by now."

"Stop acting so obnoxiously and answer my question," stated a terse John as he followed on Sherlock's heels.

"I ordered the hansom for you later, John," said Sherlock, trying hard to suppress a chuckle.

John could see Sherlock trying to hold in a chuckle and angrily stated back, "Now look who is being absurd! Why would I need a hansom this evening? I was planning on staying in."

"For the client," said Sherlock. "I was under the assumption, after finding out that it was a lady caller, that you might...well, connect the dots there. It's rather simplistic..."

Seeing Sherlock begin his chuckle in the doorway, John grabbed an umbrella out of the umbrella stand by the front door and swatted Sherlock's back with it. Sherlock merely hunched over slightly to try to protect himself against John's gentle beatings, still laughing like a boy. Seeing Sherlock still chuckle, John couldn't help, but laugh himself then. The umbrella soon fell limp in John's hands and he placed it back in the stand.

"Are we ready to head out now then or are you going to continue beating upon me with the umbrella?" asked Sherlock with a small smile as he straightened up once more. "Next time I'll remember not to be so helpful."

"Yes, I think we are ready, and if _that_ is helpful..." John cut himself short then, shaking his head slowly. "Lets just say that I'd prefer something different next time."

Sherlock chuckled once more as he opened the door, admitting the raucous noises of the horses and people outside. Sherlock grabbed his hat from off the rack by the door and placed it on top of his head as John reached for his bowler. Making sure it was on straight, he called above the racket towards Mrs. Hudson's door that she could go ahead and cancel the hansom for that evening. Sherlock was already out the door by the time John turned back around and he quickly raced after him, dodging the people as they milled about and trying to get into the carriage before it took off without him.

* * *

 **2012**

"Are you seriously cleaning?" asked an agitated John as he stared at Sherlock, who at the current moment was perched on a chair on one leg, reaching up to the top of a book ledge to dust it.

"Yes, and your problem is?..."

"You _never_ clean. I have the statistics. They are very telling."

Sherlock snorted, placing both feet back down to rest on the chair before stepping down from it. "I'd love to see these said statistics, John...Oh, wait. They don't exist outside your head. How foolish of me to have forgotten?"

"Your sarcasm is so amusing, Sherlock. I know that you're up to something. You never do this sort of activity voluntarily."

"Maybe I just thought it was time for a change of pace. Did you ever think of that?"

"A change of pace? Yeah, okay. Not believing that either."

John made his way towards the desk to claim his laptop before plopping down into his chair and flipping it open. Sherlock was dusting the ledge of the kitchen entryway when he saw John madly typing away. He froze as he quirked a brow in John's direction.

"Typing another blog entry?"

"Yep."

"About what?..."

"Not telling," remarked John as his fingers continued to fly across the keys. "I'm sure that you can put two and two together."

Sherlock placed the feather duster down by his side and strode quickly over to John's side to peer down at the laptop screen. John chuckled as he craned his head to see Sherlock quickly scanning the page. As soon as Sherlock had finished reading it, he pointed a demanding finger at the screen and said, "Delete it," as he walked back off to start cleaning again.

"No. Why should I? I mean, these people, our fans, crave the truth, Sherlock."

"Well, sometimes they don't need to know the whole truth. Besides, what you wrote isn't even truthful."

"Sure it is! What about it isn't?"

Sherlock brought the duster up again and started to dust once more as he quoted, "'Sherlock Holmes, being bored in the ways of consulting detective work, has decided to become skilled in the art of cleaning. One wonders what he might turn that talent towards. Could it be possible Sherlock is actually learning to interact with the human world? Are we seeing a more human side of Sherlock? Or one that just wants to figure out how to handle things unseen?'"

"Don't you like it?"

"No. Hence the reason why I told you to _delete_ it."

"Then how about we strike a bargain. You tell me what you're up to, and then I'll delete it."

"What if I lie to you about my reason?"

"I know when you're lying to me, Sherlock. I'm not as naive as you like to believe."

Sherlock chuckled as he entered the kitchen, calling behind his shoulder in at John, "I am cleaning because we are to entertain company of the highest order."

"Oh brother," sighed John as he pressed the 'delete' key. If Sherlock was lying on the sarcasm like that, it usually had to do with his family. "Mycroft coming over again?"

"Better, John. My parents _and_ Mycroft. It's like a family gathering at the flat."

"Shall I make plans to be gone this evening then?" asked John.

"Nonsense. You're welcome to join in the horrors of politely conversing over topics of little significance."

"No, I shall take a pass. I think I'll spend the evening in my room if that's alright. I have to finish typing up the blog post over our latest case after all."

"What? No date tonight?"

John's cheeks reddened as he shut his laptop, holding it to his chest as he walked into the kitchen to see Sherlock cleaning up an experiment he had left near the sink.

"No, I don't."

"Ah, such a shame..." said Sherlock with a small chuckle.

"Why do you patronize me about my dating? So what if I go on a date with a few women..."

"Thirteen, John. And that's just these past two months," remarked Sherlock as he turned to look over John's shoulder. "You're ready to mate, and looking for someone to mate with. It's nothing to be ashamed over. I just thought you might be on the lookout again tonight."

The tips of John's ears turned red at Sherlock's belligerence, and he clutched the laptop tighter to his chest.

"I'm not as desperate as you might assume."

"I didn't say you were desperate. I said you were looking."

"'Thirteen, John. And that's just these past two months'," parroted John as he copied Sherlock. "You can't possible tell me that you weren't calling me desperate with that statement."

"I'm not going to say anything to that, John," said Sherlock.

John muttered under his breath as he turned to go towards his room, pulling up short when he heard Sherlock remark, "After you blog about the case, if you're looking for something else to blog about, instead of writing about how cleaning makes me more human, you could write about the woman you claim you keep seeing in the looking glass in your room."

"I swear she's there, Sherlock, and before you even start, it is not my desperation for a mate making me envision her there."

"I didn't say that. John, I just want you to be aware that just because you snagged that mirror from a flea market sale doesn't make it magical. It's just like saying if you bought a lamp at a flea market that there must be a genie inside. I'm pretty sure things of that nature aren't on their disclaimer."

"I'm going to my room," said John as he walked away, "Have fun cleaning for the highest order."

"Wait! Can't you help me make something to eat for them first?"

"Nope. Ask Mrs. Hudson for help."

Sherlock had just filled his lungs with air to call out to Mrs. Hudson to ask for her assistance when a faint echo of, "Not your housekeeper, boys!", echoed up the stairs. It loosened the tension in the room and caused them both to laugh. Shaking his head, John entered his bedroom and shut the door behind him. As he took a seat on his bed with the laptop, his eyes fleetingly went towards the mirror. There she was again. Ever so faintly, but definitely there, was the ghost like image of a woman. She was wearing a blue dress today, and she looked sad. Frowning, John plopped onto his bed and opened his laptop.

"Maybe she's sad because no one believes her..." muttered John. "Just like Sherlock doesn't believe me..."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

 **1887**

The carriage clattered along the rutted streets of downtown London. John watched London fade by around him from his vantage point; a small smile on his face. The sights and sounds of London always caused him to feel immediately at home. Everything seemed so familiar to him. Everything from the vendors on the side streets to the wide open doors of the bakery where out wafted the fragrant odors of cakes and bread. John watched as people turned to look towards the carriage with widened eyes. They were probably just curious about the carriages whereabouts. Sherlock was always saying how everyone had a built in sense of curiosity. Sherlock would also always add in that that was why many people became involved in crimes; they became curious in the wrong things.

"John," said Sherlock as John still kept his back to him as he watched out the carriage, "In your professional opinion, if she doesn't exhibit the symptoms of being mad, what do you believe in the reason for her visions?"

It took John a minute to filter all of the words that Sherlock had just said. He couldn't believe that Sherlock had just asked for his professional opinion. Sure Sherlock had asked him to examine several corpses at a crime scene to determine how they came to meet their death, but Sherlock always knew that answer before John gave his medical analysis. John doubted, as he slowly turned to face Sherlock in the seat beside him, that this was any different. Sherlock probably had already come up with a viable reason, and just wanted more angles to observe.

"In my professional opinion, if she is not mad and envisioning the person in her mirror due to that, then it must be caused by a trauma that occurred in her life. Like PTSD. Post traumatic stress disorder can cause one to mentally revisit a traumatic moment in their lives. For me, my PTSD plagued me whilst I slept. I would say for this woman, that she experiences the symptoms whilst she is awake. Though I don't have remotely any idea as to what the trigger to this PTSD could be. It could also be that she is being tormented by someone into making it appear as if she's mad, but she's actually not. A favorite tool of some murderers after all is to discredit others word so it's easier to swoop in on them."

Sherlock let out a thoughtful hum and disembarked from the carriage as they pulled up outside the address that the woman had left behind. It was a common practice that they take down all their clients addresses at first in case they did take their case. The hum puzzled John as he followed Sherlock out of the carriage, making sure the fare was taken care of.

"What was that reaction for?" asked John as he jumped up the three short steps to the front door.

"What reaction?" asked Sherlock as he turned to look behind him slightly.

"You asked for my professional opinion and all you could do back to it was hum."

"I was pondering what you said, trying to figure out what could have triggered her PTSD."

"I'd have thought you might have drawn up the conclusion before you asked me for my opinion," said John, "You always tend to. You just like having someone to either agree with you or having someone to correct."

Sherlock brought up a hand to rap upon the door as he answered John, "I thought she was mad at first, remember? It was you who changed my mind about taking this case, and so I wanted your opinion as to what she was if she wasn't mad. I wasn't seeing your side of things, and I wanted to be able to see it more clearly."

"Are you saying for once you didn't have things figured out ahead of time?" asked John in shock.

"As much of a surprise as that is to you, yes. That is exactly what I'm telling you."

Before John could say anything else, the door opened and the woman looked out at them in shock. She still had on the same floral print dress as she had on back at the flat; her eyes red from having no doubt cried. She looked out at them wearily before asking, "Why are you here?"

"We've had a change of heart about your case," said Sherlock with the best smile he could muster. "May we come in and chat about the matter more thoroughly? Or have you found someone else in the meantime?"

"Sherlock..." muttered John under his breath. Just when he thought Sherlock was being cordial, he had to go and throw it out the window.

As they were led into the woman's flat and towards the sitting room, Sherlock immediately cut to the chase, once again throwing the cordial 'lets go in and talk about it more thoroughly' out the window with the rest of his manners.

"May we see the room where this mirror you are talking about is housed?"

"Of course," she said as she led them down the hallway to her bedroom.

As she pushed open the door to allow them entrance into her small bedroom, John's eyes immediately gravitated towards the mirror. He knew that, logical, there could not possible be a person in her mirror, but yet at the same time he was very curious as to why the woman only saw the man in the mirror. As John entered the room a bit ahead of Sherlock, the woman said she'd go and brew them some tea so they could talk after their initial investigation of the mirror. Sherlock agreed to that and the woman walked back down the hall to the kitchen.

John stood face-to-face with the mirror as Sherlock slowly approached him; his back having stiffened as if he'd just been administered an electrical shock. Sherlock, seeing the current pose of his best friend, quirked a brow in confusion.

"John? What's the matter?"

John brought up a finger to point at the mirror. Very faintly you could see a man sitting in bed with a rectangular object on his lap. To make things even weirder, the man looked exactly like John, minus the mustache, bowler hat, and dapper outfit. Sherlock narrowed his eyes to get a better look at this faint image before shaking his head and looking about at the ceiling.

"It must be some trick of the light. Perhaps the sun is currently reflecting off a picture and it is reflected in the mirror's surface..."

"No, Sherlock," said John quietly, inching a bit closer to the mirror and the ghost of a man in it. "It's not a trick of the sun. It's real."

Sherlock let out a small chortle and shook his head.

"No. It's not real. That is completely illogical. It's against all current sources of logic we know of in our society..."

Tuning out Sherlock, John slowly reached out a hand to touch the glass of the mirror. Instead of his hand coming to immediate rest on the surface of the glass, it slipped through it gently as if he'd just stuck his hand into water. John turned momentarily to look over his shoulder at Sherlock, who had fallen dead silent when he watched this action take place. Turning back around, John took a deep breath.

"If we want to get to the bottom of things, we need to find out what happens," said John.

He withdrew his fingers from the mirror and crawled up on top of the dresser that the mirror hung above. Sherlock watched as John crouched on the dresser for a moment. John took a deep shaky breath and closed his eyes. He placed one hand atop his bowler to keep it on before leaning towards the mirror and slipping completely into it.

"John!" exclaimed Sherlock as he made for the mirror. Peering into it, he could see that John and the John look alike seemed to now be in the same place.

Cursing under his breath, he climbed up on the dresser and crouched too. He had to figure out what was going on and the only reasonable way to do that was to follow John 'down the rabbit hole' as Lewis Carroll would put it. Closing his eyes, Sherlock leaned into the mirror, transporting himself to who knows where.

* * *

 **2012**

A knock came at John's bedroom door about an hour and a half after he had retired to it for the evening. John knew without looking up from typing his blog entry that it was Sherlock, come once more to beg for his assistance or to have him come out and eat dinner with them. He wasn't going to be swayed though. He didn't really fancy sitting through a Holmes family dinner and feeling like the odd one out.

"Yes, Sherlock. What is it?" called out John, still typing away at his post.

"I brought you dinner. Well, I should say, I brought you a tester plate that I was hoping you could taste for me to see if it's good enough to serve my family for dinner."

John paused in his typing and slid the laptop from his lap, setting it aside.

"You actually did end up cooking something yourself?"

"Yes. Mrs. Hudson was rather adamant about the 'not your housekeeper' rule today."

John rose from the bed and walked towards the door, opening it just enough to see Sherlock standing there with a plate of food in his hands. He rose his brow in shock, surprised that the food that Sherlock had on the plate actually looked presentable and edible.

"You cooked that?"

"Yes. Watched a 'Youtube' tutorial," said Sherlock. "I tried to replicate all of the steps, but I didn't have some of the ingredients so I improvised."

John nodded as he grabbed the fork and swirled some of the pasta and seasoned meat onto it. He placed the forkful into his mouth and chewed it thoughtfully for a moment before swallowing it.

"So, what did you think?" asked Sherlock with bated breath.

"It's actually fairly good, Sherlock. I'm rather impressed that you cooked this."

Sherlock smiled in triumph at that and brandished the plate slightly above his head as if he'd just won a battle against a dragon.

" _Perhaps cooking_ was _Sherlock's personal dragon,"_ mused John as he smirked at Sherlock's reaction to his approval.

"I'll go get you more to eat then and then bring it back for you," said Sherlock.

He turned to go and looked back over his shoulder slightly as he came to a stop.

"You sure you didn't change your mind about joining my family and I for dinner?"

"Nope," said John, "It'll be okay, Sherlock. You act like you're about to head into battle."

"You apparently don't know my family well, John, for that is _exactly_ what it is like."

John chuckled as Sherlock disappeared from view and went back into the kitchen. John decided to leave his bedroom door ajar slightly so Sherlock would know it was okay to enter with the food when he came back.

Going back over to the bed, John sat back down in the same reclined position and placed his laptop on top of his lap once more. Looking up for a brief instant at the mirror, he noticed that the woman that had been there earlier was gone. He shrugged his shoulders and looked down at his laptop screen. Perhaps Sherlock was right. Perhaps he had merely made up a tall tale subconsciously in his head. Sighing, he clicked away at the keys again as, several seconds later, a knock at the door from Sherlock caused him to look up again. He smiled at him and asked him to please set the plate and glass of water on the dresser. Sherlock did as he asked and then left the room with a pale face, shutting the door behind him. John chuckled again. He had never seen Sherlock so scared before.

John became so engrossed in his writing after Sherlock left his room, that he had just about forgotten the meal Sherlock had brought to him. The only time he was brought out of his head and into reality was when a loud thud sounded out. Thinking that it was the arrival of Sherlock's family, (which he didn't realize had already arrived), he humphed and got out of the bed. He decided that it would be best to eat now before he gave himself a headache from being too hungry.

As he walked over to the dresser where Sherlock had left him his food and his glass of water, he noticed a dark lump on the floor behind him. Turning to look over his shoulder at it, he stumbled backward in shock, hitting the dresser with his side and wincing. Collapsed on the floor, at the foot of his bed, was a man who looked exactly like him. The man's eyes widened as he looked up at the bang, no doubt noticing the resemblance himself. As he stood to his feet, John saw that the only difference between the two of them was that he was dressed in clothing from the Victorian era and he sported a bushy mustache across his upper lip. Stooping momentarily to pick up his bowler hat and place it on his hand once more, John watched as the man came closer to him with an outstretched hand.

"Greetings. My name is John Watson. Who might you be?"

John placed a hand to his forehead, shaking his head. No. This couldn't be happening. John stared palely at the man in front of him when his eyes flew to the mirror when he saw a man fall out of it and onto the floor. This man, taller than the man in front of John, hit his head on the end bed post as he fell through, yelping in pain slightly. As this man stood up, John's eyes widened even more and he began to shake. This man, aside from the Victorian clothing, looked exactly like Sherlock. The Victorian John in front of John still had his hand outstretched, waiting for a greeting as the Victorian Sherlock came up behind him.

"Is this man well?"

Victorian John rolled his eyes as he turned briefly to glance over his shoulder.

"Yes, he's perfectly fine. He's just in shock."

"He does look rather pale, and an awful lot like you," commented Victorian Sherlock as John swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat.

John finally, after several more seconds of petrifying fear, reached forward to grab the outstretched Victorian John's hand. Once he had clasped it with his sweaty hand, he paled even more in fear. This hand was real. John knew that that was rather a foolish thought to think, but it was true. The fact that he was now holding another person's hand proved that he wasn't envisioning it.

"Maybe I'm just having a really strong dream..." muttered John under his breath as he shook Victorian John's hand before withdrawing his own again.

"Not a dream," said Victorian Sherlock, apparently hearing John. "Quite real, despite the odd extremities."

John stared at the Victorian counterparts in front of him, gripping the dresser behind him to stay upright. He had no idea what to do now. The only thing that was going through his mind at the current moment was that he had to tell Sherlock about this. He had to tell Sherlock and get help.

"Would you both like something to drink?" asked John, trying to be cordial.

"Oh, no thank you. We really must be going," spoke up Victorian Sherlock as he turned back to face the mirror. "Come along, John. You've proved a point."

Victorian John rolled his eyes once more as he watched Victorian Sherlock move closer to the mirror again. Victorian Sherlock leaned closer to the mirror, as if he were leaning back into the glass, but instead of gliding through it, his cheek smacked hard against it. Bouncing backwards, he placed his hand over his cheek as he narrowed his eyebrows at it. Victorian John paled then as he looked at the mirror.

"Are we stuck here?" Victorian John whispered softly under his breath.

"It would be appear so," muttered Victorian Sherlock as he still kept his hand cupped over his cheek.

"How about you both stay here and I'll go get you some tea so we can try to sort through this," suggested John as he slowly shuffled his way towards the door.

Once at the door, John gripped the door knob gently and turning it, opened the door and slipped out into the hallway. He shut the door behind him before either Victorian John or Sherlock could try to stop him. He walked with a rapid pace down the hallway, wondering how he could tear Sherlock away from his family dinner without arousing suspicion. John knew that that would be a hard task in itself to accomplish, but he would figure out a way somehow.

 _"_ _Maybe Sherlock will believe me about the woman in the mirror now,"_ thought John as he slipped quietly into the kitchen, ready to prove to Sherlock that he wasn't crazy and that what he saw had been real.


End file.
